


fuck, i’m lonely

by CookieMonstersRUs



Series: fuck, I love you, I love you [1]
Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe No Superpowers, Alternate Universe Private Investigators, Bar Hopping, Dom/sub, Dominance, Drunkeness, Dubious Consent, Fucking, Getting Together, Good Boy, Guns, Hand Jobs, I attempt to write British accent, Light Stalking, M/M, Post hangover, Praise Kink, Submission, Yikes, You know I had to do it to the boys, but butcher probably stalked Hughie for a few days, gun aversion, hangovers, missing wallets, more like tracking, mostly because alcohol, you know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-19 07:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20205787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieMonstersRUs/pseuds/CookieMonstersRUs
Summary: Hughie meets Trouble at a bar.





	1. fuck, i’m lonely

When Hughie went to the third bar that night, already drunk but still devastated over Robin, he knew he was asking for trouble. He could barely walk straight and he was alone. He was looking for something messy, something to distract him, something to keep him from caving in on himself or jumping over a ledge. Then again, drinking until he could barely see straight was not the way to keep himself out of danger. If anything, he was walking straight into trouble.

Trouble being tall, dark, and handsome leaning against the bar with the thickest beard Hughie had ever seen and a leather jacket he wanted to run his cheek against. Trouble drank whiskey neat and had lips Hughie would fall into the road for. Trouble had thick hands that made Hughie drool. Trouble had the darkest eyes Hughie had ever seen, ones that could burn men alive. Trouble paid Hughie no mind when he sat down next to him and ordered another shot of vodka. Hughie tried to pretend he wasn’t giving Trouble secret glances, but Trouble saw right through him, a dark brow raised when Hughie glanced at him a little too long. Hughie wasn’t sure if Trouble would ignore Hughie for the rest of his stay at the bar or punch him in the nose if he staid any longer. That didn’t stop Hughie from taking his shot and ordering another one.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Trouble asked.

Which made Hughie realize Trouble was just as drunk as him, British voice slurring through the words. God, his fucking voice made Hughie weak in the knees and he was thankful he was sitting down already. 

Hughie downed his next shot before answering. “Break-up.” The bartender poured another and went down to the other end. What shithole had Hughie found himself in tonight?

“Cunt break your heart?” Hughie nodded. Trouble reached over and clinked his whiskey against Hughies glass. “I’ll drink to that, mate. I’m Butcher.”

From there, the two dissolved into a mutual storytelling about their woes and empty beds. Hughie didn’t pay attention to half of it, distracted by the steady stream of drinks Trouble supplied him and the hand he later laid on Hughie’s thigh as the night went on. Whiskey dick or not, Hughie was interested, more than interested in Trouble’s company.

When their tongues were both suitably loosened and their eyes were glazed over and it was nearing three in the morning and their thighs were side by side, Trouble gave him a leer and squeezed his hand on Hughie’s thigh asking, 

“Your place or mine?”

Now was not the time to think about his dad, alone at home, probably worried sick about Hughie’s disappearance. Now was not the time to think at all. Hughie was wasted and had nothing else to do but follow Trouble to wherever he took him.

“Yours.”

Butcher paid for his tab as well as Hughie’s. As they waited for a cab outside, Butcher tucked his fingers just under the seam of his pants and nuzzled at the side of his neck, teeth latching onto Hughie’s ear, making him lean heavily against Butcher.

It was a relief to get into the cab. Not because Butcher stopped touching him and it gave Hughie some space to breathe, to lean his head against a window and think. No, the cab only gave him a place to sit, to not worry about his shaking legs. Butcher never stopped touching him, hand running up and down his inner thigh, almost touching him where he wanted him most, but not touching him yet. Butcher refused to say anything in the cab, even drunk, refused to look at Hughie too, staring straight ahead at the cabbie, pretending they weren’t drunk when they so clearly were. But Butcher did let Hughie rest his head on his neck, let him burrow his nose into the leather and let his mouth water. Butcher let him do all of that, rewarding him with a tight squeeze on his leg and a rumble in his chest.

It felt good to lean up against Trouble and let himself fall into the alcoholic haze he poured himself into. He felt good to be here in this car, away from all the troubles in the world and no thought to the consequences of tomorrow.

It felt good when Butcher carried him out of their cab and dragged him up the steps of his apartment building. It felt good to be pressed against the stairwell and get lost in Butcher’s mouth, in the insistent press of his tongue on his. He’d be embarrassed by his needy whines tomorrow, long after he’d left Butcher’s embrace. For now, Hughie let himself whine and mewl and go needy with Trouble because Butcher groaned low in his throat every time Hughie went soft, needy, compliant.

Butcher pulled him from the stairwell to his floor and then to his door, making stops along the way to make out against the walls and neighbors’ doors. By now Hughie was half-hard and debating whether or not coming in his pants would be that bad. It didn’t matter, Trouble was in charge here, cupping him through his pants, mumbling in Hughie’s ear what he was going to do to him. Butcher was a hot, firm line against him, and Hughie wanted to wrap himself around him like a snake and squeeze him for all he was worth. He wanted from Butcher all the good feelings he could get before sunrise.

They stumbled into the darkness of Trouble’s apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights. By now, Hughie’s shirt had been untucked from his jeans and Butcher’s was half-unbutton. Hughie bumped into counters and shelves, but Butcher knew the place well and led Hughie through the dark and into the bedroom. Butcher didn’t turn on the lights. Hughie almost wanted them on, to see the dark look in Butcher’s brown eyes, to see him in all his naked glory when Hughie eventually got him out of his clothes. But Hughie didn’t say much, tongue heavy from the booze and the press of Butcher’s tongue along his.

“Fuck,” Hughie gasped when Butcher unzipped his jeans and wrapped a hand around him through his boxers. “Fuck,” Hughie repeated when Butcher grazed his teeth around his neck and pushed him back towards the bed. Hughie sat down and Butcher crowded into the spread of his legs.

“Get these off,” Butcher growled tugging at his shirt. Hughie fumbled with his own arms, especially when Butcher pushed him back into the bed and tugged at his jeans. They got caught on Hughie’s shoes, trapping his legs like that, and Butcher left him like that too, his boxers still on, chest bare with the damned shirt finally off. Butcher leaned over him and let his hands touch Hughie’s thighs, feeling what little muscle was there. Then his hands tugged at the waist band of his boxers and Hughie mewled, needy and so hard. Butcher chuckled and tugged his boxers down, just enough for Hughie’s cock to be bare, to feel the cool air of Butcher’s apartment.

Trouble brushed a thumb against the underside and Hughie’s hips made an abortive thrust. “Eager are we?”

Hughie nodded, but then remembered Butcher couldn’t see him in the dark. He couldn’t make his lips move, so he raised his hips again and pressed more firmly into Butcher’s hand. Butcher chuckled again and then his hand disappeared.

Hughie whined at that. 

Butcher was gone for a long moment and Hughie could hear the rustle of clothes being removed. Hughie’s mouth watered and he got further onto the bed, trying to kick off his shoes but having trouble. Then he felt hands at his ankles, Butcher taking off his sneakers where he couldn’t and tugging his jeans further down. 

Hughie felt something land on the bed next to him and then the bed shift as a weight got onto it. Butcher’s knees landed on either side of his thighs, towering over Hughie, crowding into his space. Butcher pressed a kiss to the side of Hughie’s neck and Hughie bared himself to Trouble, weak and soft to Butcher’s fingers. Butcher rolled his hips into Hughie’s, a firm weight where he need him the most.

“Pretty thing like you need to get off? Is that it?” Butcher’s voice was low, solid. It wasn’t a question. There was the sound of a bottle opening. Hughie couldn’t help but nod. “What do you want? Want to get off?” 

“Yeah—fuck—”

Butcher reached down and wrapped a wet hand around Hughie’s dick, the slick glide of lube on his cock. It was cold, but Butcher’s hand, big and thick, wrapped around him, and the alcohol already making him sleepy, Hughie’s head thudded onto the bed, buried in the pillows. Butcher jacked him off, kissing him on the throat, sucking bruises into his neck. Hughie’s hips raised to meet Butcher’s fist. He tried to make Butcher go faster, rolling his hips, hands going to Butcher’s head.

“Stop moving,” Butcher growled, stopping his hand and tightening his grip, just a momentary squeeze. “Or am I gonna have to hold you down?”

“Fuck,” Hughie squeeze his eyes shut. 

“You like that?” Butcher started moving his hand again, slowly this time. “Wanna be held down?”

“Fuck, I—yeah, I—” Hughie pressed his hips firmly to the bed, thighs straining to keep them there. 

“Good boy,” Butcher rewarded him by stroking him faster, his beard scraping against Butcher’s jaw. “Yeah, be good for me.”

Hughie tried to breathe through it, tried to gain some sense where he was, but he couldn’t. Everything had narrowed down to Butcher and his hands and how good they felt on him. Butcher dipped down from his cock to his balls to press at his hole, to tease at what was to come. Hughie tried to spread his legs but his boxers were stuck at his knees and he couldn’t widen his legs any further. Hughie keened, but didn’t try to fight it. Butcher pressed against his hole again and again but never went in. Hughie wanted him in, wanted to feel him fill him up, wanted him to hold him down and make Hughie take it. But then Butcher moved his hand away again and wrapped it around Hughie’s cock, stroking him faster now. 

“Why aren’t—why won’t you fuck me?” Hughie gasped, wishing he could look into Butcher’s eyes.

“Drank too much, pretty boy,” Butcher chuckled. Hughie frowned. “Want you to though. Want you to cum. You gonna cum?”

“I—“ Butcher twisted his wrist on the upstroke, thumb rubbing at the slit at the top. Hughie hissed. “I, fuck, I’m—”

“Yeah? You’re gonna be good for me?” Butcher covered Hughie’s mouth with his. Hughie couldn’t answer, but he was moaning, trying to keep still as Butcher strokes him faster, kissed him harder, his beard scratching his cheeks, his weight heedy on top of him. “Cum for me, cum for me.”

His orgasm punched through him. Hughie’s head landed in the pillows, his eyes unseeing even in the dark. The alcohol, the orgasm, the presence of another person next to him, it kept Hughie’s head lighter than air. Butcher stroked him through it, kissing his jaw, and mumbling praises Hughie couldn’t hear. When it got too sensitive and Hughie mewled at the sensation, Butcher let him go. Pressed him further into the bed and laid beside him. Hughie was already falling asleep.


	2. fuck, i’m hungover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie forgets what happened last night. Butcher is late to work.

Hughie’s head hurt even before he woke up. The hangover gnawed at him until he finally grumbled awake and rubbed at his face. 

There were a few things one doesn’t quite notice until they were awake, really awake. One being how much they had to drink last night, another being how little clothes your were wearing. The most important and most forgetful was the person laying in bed next to you, their arm snug around your waist. 

Hughie didn’t realize he was in bed with another person until he sat up in bed, hands coming to rub at his face, and he felt the weight of an arm snug around his ribs tighten at the movement. Hughie looked down at the hairy arm of a stranger, head pounding, his eyes squinting at the arm. An arm? Around him? Hughie’s boxers were down at his feet, as were his jeans, still trapped at the ankles. He was naked, in bed, with a stranger. The fuck happened to him? Hughie saw the tell-tale signs of dry jizz on his crotch and winced at the sight. When he wiggled up further in a sitting position he noticed his butt didn’t hurt, so he clearly hadn’t been fucked last night.

He followed the arm around him to the body it was attached to. It was a man, still sleeping, back bared to Hughie and his face burrowed in the pillows. The man’s blankets pooled around his legs. He wore blue boxers that clung to his ass in a way Hughie hadn’t thought about in men in a long while. Hughie had no idea who the man was and his hangover wasn’t about to let him figure that out on his own. He needed a bathroom, a gallon of water, and some Advil ASAP.

Hughie tried to pull the arm off of him, but the stranger tightened his grip around Hughie for a moment before relaxing. Hughie placed the arm off of him and sat up more properly. The stranger rolled over and looked at Hughie. He froze. The stranger had dark brown eyes and an even darker beard, his hair mussed from sleep. Any other day, he’d probably be handsome, Hughie reasoned, instead the stranger was grouchy, brows furrowed and lips stiff in a snarl.

“What’s the fucking time?” he asked, voice gruff with sleep. Hughie was vaguely terrified of him. He was British and not the pip, pip, cheerio kind of British.

“I don’t know.”

“Aw fuck.” The stranger sat up and looked over at a bedside table, and scrambled with the clock. “Fuck, I’m late.” The man threw the blankets off of him and rolled out of bed. 

Hughie rubbed his face. “Hey,” he asked, voice going high with that squeaky awkwardness guys like Hughie were prone to, “do you have any Advil or something?” 

“Bathroom.” The man got up from the bed and moved to pull on some jeans. 

Hughie got up as well, not saying anything. He tugged on his boxers, not about to walk around naked in a stranger’s apartment. He did notice the man giving him a once over as he did so, probably inspecting his work from last night. Hughie tried not to look at him and went to the bathroom attached to the bedroom. Hughie rifled through the mirror cabinet for some aspirin and drank some tap water. While he was doing that, he remembered the name of the stranger outside: Butcher. B-something for a first name. Nothing else. Hughie wiped at himself with a wet tissue cloth, trying to get as much dried cum off of him as quick as possible. He needed a shower, needed to pee, and needed to brush his teeth, but he wasn’t about to do any of that. He was in a stranger’s home, hungover, covered in hickeys, and in clear need of some therapy. And it looked like Butcher was about to leave soon, kick out Hughie too. 

When Hughie stepped back into the room, it was to the horrifying sight of the man loading a gun. On the table next to Butcher were even more guns, a couple of dangerous looking knives too, all out for display. Who’s fucking apartment had Hughie ended up in last night? How had he not seen those coming in? This guy could’ve murdered him while he slept.

“What the fuck is that?” Hughie pointed at the scene.

“This?” Butcher held up the gun. “It’s a fucking gun, you know what that is?”

“I know it’s a fucking gun, I meant why are you loading it here? Are you a gangster or something?” The bathroom was right next to the bed so Hughie ducked down and grabbed his stuff, frantically putting on his jeans. 

“What makes you think I’m not a copper?”

“There’s too many guns! And knives. Are you a cop?”

“No, but—”

Hughie pulled on his shirt and shoes, who knew what the fuck he was doing, he needed to get out. Now. “Did you bring me here to kill me?” He asked. He was going to throw up, either from the hangover or from imagining his almost murder. Either way, he needed to get out.

Butcher frowned, brows furrowing. “To kill you—hey, mate, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already, alright?”

“Oh my god, not alright!” Hughie checked that his phone was in his pocket and then headed for the door of the bedroom.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Butcher tucked the gun in the back of his jeans, following after Hughie. Hughie got a little lost in the apartment, trying to remember his way out. “Hey, where ya going? Is it the gun? I’m not going to kill ya, Hughie. Chill, alright?”

“I’m sure you’re a lovely guy,” Hughie said, finally finding the door. “But I need to go, so yeah.” Hughie scrambled with the door handle and then walked out, barely looking back before he was making his way to the stairwell.

Hughie pulled out his phone and turned it on. He had less than twenty percent and there were four missed calls from his dad, and a shitload of texts from his dad, friends, and even a few from Robin. He was going to be sick. Fuck that. Hughie made his way out of the apartment building and headed for the closest subway. Fuck how could he be such an idiot? Going out drinking last night? Going alone? Going home with a stranger with a gun? Fuck, Hughie, think first for once.

He patted down the back of his jeans, looking for his wallet. Fuck. It wasn’t there. Shit. Goddammit, of course. Hughie was going to throw up, for real this time.

His wallet was back at Butcher’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god, if there aren’t more Butcher/Hughie fanfics I guess I’ll have to *cracks knuckles, breaks neck* do it myself.


	3. fuck, i’m broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble always finds Hughie.

Hughie was broke. He hadn’t cancelled his credit cards yet and his dad was starting to worry about all the money he was borrowing. Hughie couldn’t decide yet whether or not he’d try to find his way back to Butcher’s or just call the bank and cancel his cards. He’d need to get a new ID soon if he wanted to go drink himself to death again. Hughie was still in that twentysomething age where bartenders weren’t too sure of his age. It didn’t help that Hughie was an awkward fuck and his voice squeaked at the slightest inconvenience.

So here he was, at work, almost a week after the monstrous affair with the gun-wielding maniac and worrying if he was going to starve tonight or tomorrow. His dad wasn’t going to let him eat all the pasta much longer and Hughie dreaded the day he would have to eat those stupid pizza rolls. He’d rather have a bomb up his ass than eat those fucking microwavables. Fuck that.

The work day was slow. People didn’t need to buy much tech everyday, but the pay was good and in a few years, Hughie could move out and live on his own. Hugh Campbell wasn’t a bad roommate, but Hughie didn’t want to live with his dad forever. He didn’t want to sleep in the same bed he’d peed in when he was seven. He didn’t want to bring someone over and fuck against his old superhero sheets. That’d be sad. More than sad. Hughie needed to get his life together. And now with Robin gone…Hughie was an even sadder sack of shit than he usually was.

The doorbell to the store dingled with the entry of a new customer. Hughie checked his watch. He could go on his break in fifteen, eat sad ramen, and check his phone for any missed texts from Robin. The customer walked along the aisles, going to look at a white bear. The customer, a guy in a long ass leather trenchcoat--who the fuck wore leather that long--had his back turned to him.

Hughie cleared his throat. “You, uh, interested in a nanny cam? ‘Cause we’re actually running a special on that. Um, it’s a pretty popular bear. There’s cameras in the eyes,” he told the stranger. Hughie was their best salesmen. He was their only salesmen, but still, he was their best. The old ladies all thought he was charming. 

“Actually, Hughie, I’m more interested in you.” The man turned around. Gun-psycho.

“Shit,” Hughie stumbled back, “hey, man look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble? Hughie,” Butcher tsked, “you already walked into trouble, mate.” More like fucked, but Hughie wasn’t about to correct him. Not when he could be wearing a gun at this exact moment. Fuck, Hughie didn’t want to die in the tech store.

“Jesus, what do you want?” Hughie asked, moving to stand behind the glass counter of the register, give himself some distance from Butcher. Not that it did much, Butcher could probably choke him from across the glass. The man in question put the nanny cam back on a shelf and followed after Hughie. “About the other night, I was drunk. Really drunk, bad break-up kind of drunk. So whatever we did, sorry about that.” And he was sorry about that. He had been so needy with Butcher, so willing to do all sorts of things he wouldn’t have done without alcohol involved.

Butcher snorted. “Listen, you were a nice lay. Thought I’d pop in and give back your wallet, alright?” Butcher tossed him his wallet. Hughie leafed through it, checking for his cash and cards. There was a twenty missing. “Cabbie fee,” Butcher explainer. “We’re square, yeah? Or are you still frightened of me? I’m bein’ a good samaritan and all that, should earn me something.”

“Good samaritan,” Hughie sputtered, “I thought you were going to murder me!”

“Hughie, what kind of men are you picking up at bars?” Butcher rolled his eyes, “Was it the gun?”

“Guns, plural, lots of guns,” Hughie corrected. “And knives, too many knives.”

“Hughie, mate, I’m not a hitman or whatever you think it is I am, I’m a P.I., ex-bounty, I’ve got guns. For perfectly legal reasons at that.”

“A P.I.?” Hughie raised a brow. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yeah, don’t be a fucking twat.” Butcher dug his hands into his pockets. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but I had fun the other night. Thought we could make a go of it.”

Fun? Butcher had fun when he got Hughie off and suffered from whiskey dick? That was fun for him? And he wanted to do it again, with Hughie? Un-fucking-likely. 

“Sorry, but I just got out of a relationship,” Hughie told him.

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” Butcher said. “I’m not gonna ask for your bloody hand in marriage, princess. I got something going on myself, but you seem nice enough.” Butcher looked Hughie over. Hughie hated himself for blushing. “I seem to recall some eagerness on your part.”

“I was drunk.”

“So let’s get a drink.” Butcher grinned, wicked and evil. Butcher was Trouble. Trouble for Hughie, Trouble for the world. 

“I’m not getting a drink with you,” Hughie told him. “Thanks for giving me back my wallet, but I’m good man.”

“Alright,” Butcher said, shrugging. “Just think about it, yeah? I know you’d look better spread out for me than cooped up here.”

Hughie’s cheeks burned brighter. Jesus fucking Christ, Hughie, get a fucking grip. Hughie didn’t say anything. Butcher chuckled and gave him another nod, heading for the door.

“See you around, princess.”

The tinkle of the bell signaled Butcher’s exit. Hughie breathed easier without him there, taking up his air. Hughie checked his wallet again, looking for something to do and calm his heartbeat. In between his library card and license was a piece of paper. Hughie pulled it out. It was a card. A business card.

_ Billy Butcher, The Boys Private Investigation  _

_ Spank the nasty bastards. _

And underneath it was an office phone number and a personal one. Hughie thumbed the letters on the paper, looking down at the ink. Huh. He turned it over. Butcher had scrawled something on the back.

_ Call me if you ever wanna get naughty.  _

Hughie snorted. What a fucking idiot. Did those lines ever work on anybody? Seriously, ‘naughty?’ What was he? Santa Claus? They must’ve worked because Hughie was already wondering when he’d text. God, Hughie was an idiot. He was an absolute fucking moron. Hughie had nothing else going on, so why not. Famous last words. Butcher must really be some hook-up if Hughie was about to do this. And he was about to do it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this bullshit. I know it’s not a very long chapter but I wanted it to set up the universe!

**Author's Note:**

> Bitch, I’m gay.


End file.
